I can’t even wrap my mind around what words to write. Where do I even begin? Well, let’s begin the middle!
The Fabulous Dogooder, Bessie (my Prince compatriot) bought our tickets and guess where we’re sitting? The FORTEENTH ROW! Floor level baby! I’m going to see Prince for the first time in concert and I won’t be up in the balcony…I’ll be on the 14th row!
OK. So many things are possible on the 14th row. In a moment of inspiration, Prince could call me up on stage to join him in a sultry dance and he ministers on his symbolistic guitar. And unlike that simpleton twerp, Kim Kardashian, I would not stand there frozen in fear and then tweet that I was just pulled on stage, and then sacked from the stage by the Purple One.
No!! I would dance until the body guards forcibly removed me from the stage or until I fell out from utter, undeniable and complete exhaustion.
That’s if I make it to the stage at all.
You see, I’ve been in pursuit of a new shape – and that shape seems to be closer and closer to ‘round’. Being so rotund, it may be difficult for me to get to the stage in time. So I’ve devised an ingenious plan.
Prince will search the crowd with his munificent hazel eyes. He’ll spot me, a round mass of ecstasy and jublilation swathed in white waving like a lunatic at him. He’ll smile benevolently and shyly at ME.
“I need one fat girl on stage please,” he’ll moan and squeal. “That one right there.”
WHEN Prince summons me to the stage to come and dance with him, I’ll block all the other fanatics with my very large, rotund body a tell Bessie (who is very athletic and spritely) to “go, go, go!!!” She must go in my place. She must rush to the stage and bask in the glittering glory of this musical messiah in my stead. I’d never make it ahead of the other fat girls who foolishly assumed Prince was talking to them. She in turn will dance, faint and the die (in that exact sequence) while I beam in sweaty euphoria from the crowd below.
After apologizing to the people I’ve tackled and crushed in an effort to prevent their progress to the stage, I will return to my seat. Prince fans, being the very civil people that they are, will forgive me.
“It’s all love,” one person would mutter between freshly injured lips. “If I had a good fat friend such as yourself, I’d expect them to do the same for me.”
We would then lock arms and sway hypnotically in peace to a 2 minute guitar rift on the song Purple Rain.
After gorging myself on the feast of music (I hear he has a new song called Gingerbread Man; how fitting. A gingerbread man – tiny and sweet, like he is!) I will wander aimlessly through the aisles of the RBC center, in search of more musical morsels. That is, again, until the bodyguards forcibly remove me.
No sir, after the 14th Row, life will never be the same again!